


The Assumption Parish Affair

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:51:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon Solo and his temporary partner Rennie DuBois are send to the swamps of Louisiana to investigate new T.H.R.U.S.H. activity, as well as to locate a missing U.N.C.L.E. agent...Illya Kuryakin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Posted for the Special Edition PicFic for the MFU 50th anniversary celebration on section7mfu live journal http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/739856.html

 

The two prompts:

 

 

 

 

STORY NAME: PicFic MFU:50~ The Assumption Parish Affair  
Author: mrua7  
GENRE: Gen  
WORD COUNT: 3200  
RATING: Late-Teen and Above  
WARNINGS: none

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As was his routine, Napoleon Solo paused to straighten his tie and hair outside the inner sanctum that was Alexander Waverly’s conference room.

The pneumatic doors opened unexpectedly, catching him unawares and he was cast a surreptitious glare as the Old Man greeted him.

“Mr. Solo, if your are done with your preening, would you be so kind as to join us; I have a briefing to conduct.”

Napoleon’s face flushed with a fleeting moment of embarrassment at being called out and he entered the room in silence; seating himself across from his boss at his usual spot at the circular table.

Sitting beside him in Illya’s chair was Rennie Du Bois, a Section II agent from the south and he gave a nod to the man.

“Hmm, good of you to join us, now if we may commence?” Waverly flicked some switches on the console in front of him.

The video screen silently lowered from the ceiling, with an image coming into view.

The picture was of a dark-haired man dressed in a white linen suit, with a black patch over his right eye. He carried a silver cat-headed ebony walking stick in his hand.

“This man whose true identity is unknown, is simple called Le Panthère,” Waverly said. “One would suppose due to his affinity for the big cats.” He has a rather large estate in the Assumption Parish, Louisiana. Ironically Mr. Solo the parish seat is called Napoleonville…” Waverly chuckled at that bit of information. The Acadians as you may recall migrated to the American South and settled there after the Great Upheaval of 1755."

 

Napoleon, being French-Canadian on his mother’s side knew full well what that meant.

“It was the expulsion of the Acadians called Le Grand Dérangement; it was the forced removal by the British of the Acadian people from the Canadian provinces of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island."

“Yes correct Mr. Solo, Assumption Parish, your destination, is one of the 22 Acadiana parishes in Louisiana, but more precisely you will be in the vicinity of the town of Pierre Part. It’s a small place and has remained isolated from most of the world, since it is surrounded by water. The town only became accessible by land in the 1950’s.

Le Panthère has taken advantage of this virtual anonymity, building a rather large and lavish estate surrounded by the Louisiana swamps. Now the whole point of this is his connection to T.H.R.U.S.H….despite the protection of the alligator-filled waters, the compound is appears to be heavily guarded.”

Waverly turn a knob on his console, bringing an image into view on the video screen.

“An aerial photograph shows the main entrance to the compound, with the image of a panther or some large cat rested over the gate. We know he’s is up to something but what that is we still have no clue. Recently we sent an agent in to reconnoiter but lost contact with him. Your assignment is to get into Le Panthère’s compound, assess the situation and if possible, find out what happened to our man.”

“Sir will Mr. Kuryakin be joining us?”Napoleon asked, finding it odd his partner wasn’t present. He hadn’t seen Illya as of late, but that wasn’t unusual at times as they were off on separate assignments from time to time.

“I regret to inform you that Mr. Kuryakin is the missing agent Mr. Solo.” Waverly gravely nodded.

“You will take an U.N.C.L.E. jet to New Orleans and from there make your way...I dare say though the swamps to the compound near Pierre Part. I caution you not to engage Le Panthère or his people until we know what they are up to. Am I clear on this? And Mr. Solo, though I know it is your partner who is MIA, I caution you...no heroics that could compromise your mission. I also caution you regarding the locals who are often referred to as ‘swamp people’. They stick to their own, and are wary of strangers.”

Waverly looked at his wristwatch. “Your flight will leave in two hours, giving you ample time to prepare. Report to me upon arrival in New Orleans. Now dismissed.”

Alexander Waverly send off was short and to the point; discharging his agents with a simple wave of his hand.

Napoleon nodded his acceptance, as did Agent Du Bois. Both men rose, leaving the conference room side-by-side. Once out in the corridor Rennie gently stopped Solo with a tap to the arm.

“That was pretty harsh of the him, don’t ya’ll think?

“Harsh in what way?” Napoleon canted his head to one side.

“Regarding Illya. It’s like he’s been tossed out with yesterday’s trash.”

Napoleon smiled. “Trust me the Old Man cares, he just doesn’t show it. He was actually giving me the okay to get Illya out of there.”

“How’s that?”

“He just said no heroics. He didn’t say not to rescue my partner.”

“Gotcha,” Rennie smiled in return.

.

Their travel cases loaded; Napoleon and Rennie boarded the Learjet and settled in for take off. Beverly McMaster was in charge of the cabin and would see to their needs as well as to those of the pilot and copilot.

The takeoff was flawless and the agents unbuckled their seat belts once the jet had settled into it’s flight plan and they moved to the sectional sofa at the rear of the plane. Beverly came back to them carrying a tray of drinks.

“Scotch on the rocks for you Mr. Solo and a mint julep for you Mr. Dubois.”

“Mint julep?” Napoleon frowned,”Since when, your poison has always been gin.”

“I figured since we’re heading to the home of my ancestors, it would get me in the right frame of mind for this assignment.”

“Hey we’re not going there to enjoy the scenery if that’s what you’re thinking,” this time Solo scowled. In the past most of his and Illya’s assignments to the Big Easy were tense if not borderline bizarre...their own experience with voodoo in a New Orleans cemetery came to mind.* He was in no mood for pre-mission adventures.

Their landing at the New Orleans Lakefront airport was uneventful, other than the fact that Solo promised to take Beverly to the French quarter once the assignment had been completed.

“Ya’ll are mighty sure of yourself at times Napoleon,” Du Bois smiled as the two men deplaned, walking down to the macadam and heading towards the looming art-deco terminal.

“About getting the girl?”

“No, about living long enough to get the girl.”

“Rennie if I thought otherwise I would have been dead a long time ago. Danger is a part of this business but I’m not going to let it put a damper on my life or lifestyle. What’s the saying? Eat, drink and be merry…”

“I am very familiar with that...as my daddy was a bit of a preacher,” Rennie said. “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die" is a conflation of two biblical sayings, Ecclesiastes 8:15, ‘Then I commended mirth, because a man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry’, and Isaiah 22:13, ‘Let us eat and drink; for to morrow we shall die.”

“Well I was planning to leave out the part about dying,” Napoleon said, not wanting to put the kybosh on the mission. “I plan to make that rendezvous with Miss Mc Master.”

“Say didn’t ya’ll say there wasn’t going to be any laying out?”

“Laying out?”

“Oh beg pardon...that’s Southern talk for staying out all night, drinking and doing something illicit….if ya’ll get my drift?”

“Hmm, yes I did say something to that effect didn’t I, but I should have prefaced that would only be true until post-mission.”

“Ohhh, thanks for clarifying that kind sir,” Rennie chuckled.

 

Their rental car was waiting for them, and they tossed their bags into the back of the white Ford Galaxie Sunliner convertible with light blue side panels.

“Hmm, my kind of car,” Solo commented as he slipped into the driver’s seat. It would take them under two hours to drive to Pierre Part and once there the plan was to rent an airboat to navigate the swamps and bayous.

“It’s a bit fancy for round these parts...a pickup truck would have been less obvious.”

“Point taken, but it’s that with which we’ve been blessed,” Napoleon smiled as he started up the engine, listening to it purr for a few seconds before he pulled away from the terminal.

Solo and Du Bois arrived in the sleepy town of Pierre Part, and pulling up in front of what looked like a General Store, they stepped out in hopes of finding a boat to continue their travels to Le Panthère’s compound.

A bearded fellow sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, looking very much like a hillbilly caricature, spoke to them with a slow drawl.

“Mighty fancy vehicle ya’ll have there, yep mighty fancy for these here parts.”

“Well it was the best the car rental service could do as they were flat out of pickup trucks,” Napoleon quipped.

 

The old coot flashed him a look of displeasure. “Look here, we don’t take kindly to city slickers makin’ fun o’ our way heah.”

Du Bois jumped in, his accent immediately thickening. My name is Rennie Dubois and ya’ll have to forgive mah friend’s ignorance. He’s a Yankee and don’t know no better.”

“Excusez-moi,” Napoleon caught his faux-pas, switching to some French. I beg to differ, as I’m French-Canadian and not a Yankee. My apologies sir as I did not mean to offend.”

“French-Canadian...you Acadian?” The old man asked.

“Pas encore (but of course),” Napoleon lied through his teeth, letting the man think he was related to the Cajuns there abouts, though there were none in Assumption Parish except for a few old-timers.

“Well why didn’t ya’ll say so. We is practically kin-folk. Mah daddy wuz Cajun. Shame I didn’t learn to parlez the talk when I was a young-un. Mah name is Gator Boucher.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance Mr. Boucher. My name is Napoleon...ugh, Beliveau.” He leaned forward, offering his hand to the man, and this time his greeting was accepted without reservation.

“Aw hell, forgit the Mister, jus’ call me Gator. Now what kin I do ya’ll fer fellas?”

“We’re in need of some water transportation, perhaps an airboat?” Solo asked.

“We kin help ya’ll out on that. What might you need it fer, and where you be takin’ it? Not that I’m bein’ nosy but I jus’ like to know where my equipment’s goin’ to. Last feller who took one out never came back with it. Louis Del Croix finally found it way yonder up river. No sign of the slicker who rented it...plum figure he lost hisself in the swamps, so he lost his de-posit too.” The bearded Gator cackled, amusing himself with that thought.

Rennie volunteered to address those questions.”We need to travel to the Atchafalaya River Basin. Our friend traveled up that way a week ago, but he hasn’t been heard from and we’re worried about him.”

“Odd goings on out there in them swamps. People been disappearing that aways fer a while now...we’s thinkin’ gators of course or panthers maybe. We been hearin’ stories ‘bout a black panther out there along the river, but t’ain’t no blackuns out there, no way. I’da seen one and I wuz borned and raised heah.. Your friend, he a skinny blond feller? Longish hair?”

“That’s a fair description of him,” Napoleon held up a photo of Illya.

“Yesirree bob, that’s him. He up and disappeared too I reckon. He done told me he’d bring our boat back the next day, but he never did. We figured he didn’t know much about the bayou bein’ how he wuz dressed up in fancy duds, kinda like ya’ll.

“How long ago was he here?”

“Round ‘bout a week or so.”

“And you didn’t think to notify the authorities?” Rennie asked.

“What fer? Some city slicker stupid nuf’ to go out where’n he have no buisness going, I figure he gets what he deserves.”

“Nice attitude,” Solo whispered out of the side of his mouth. He raised his voice to speak to Gator. “Well I know you don’t think we city slicker types don’t know what we’re doing, but let me assure you we do...and we need a boat to go find our friend. So are you going to rent one to us or not.” He was polite but firm with the man.

“Keep yer britches on Beliveau. I’ll git ya’ll yer boat...but I want fifty dollars paid in advance, and a de-posit of another fifty.”

“A hundred dollars?” Rennie blurt out.” That’s ridiculous. Boats don’t cost more than ten dollars a day!”

“Hey take it or leave it. I figure you gents don’t come back with my boat too, then I gotta cover my losses, until I find it. I don’t have it here to rent, I ain’t makin’ no cash. Comprenez-vous?”

“Ahhh, that’s fine Gator,” Napoleon smiled, peeling the cash from his billfold. He counted out the money into the man’s hand.”

Gator Bouche flashed a half-toothless smile. “Pleasure doin’ business with ya’ll. Boat’s around back at the dock. Spare gas can is there too. Bon chance looking fer him.”

The man tucked the money into his shirt pocket and sat back down in his chair, stroking his long grey beard. He figured these two would end up in an alligators belly most likely as had their blond friend.

“City folks,” he shook his head.

Gator Bouche pulled a small radio from his pocket.

“This is Gator here, two more slickers coming your way. Lookin’ fer the first one.”

“Roger that, we’ll be ready for them.”

“Jus’ make sure you get my boat back quicker this time vous comprendre mes ami?” (you understand my friends)

There was no answer.

 

.

Illya Kuryakin moaned as he rolled over, sitting up with a start as he suddenly remembered where he was. His white shirt was torn and muddied and beneath it he was bruised and bloodied from his interrogation at the hands of his captors. His senses were stretched to their limits due to his lack of sleep...and nourishment. That alone had given him a pounding headache.

He must have dozed off, having stayed awake for days now. He was sitting on a ledge alongside a sunken pool of sorts, and peering just above the surface of the water were several pairs of eyes belonging to some very large alligators. If he wasn’t careful, one of them could very easily make it’s way onto the ledge and drag him into a watery grave.

The ledge upon which he rested had been growing shorter and shorter each day, retracting into the wall an inch or more at a time. In a few more days time, there would be nothing left and Illya would be the ‘gator’s next meal...something he wasn’t looking forward to at all.

He had no apparent means of escape as the brick walls surrounding him were too tall to climb, and the only exit was a door on the opposite side of the pool, with no apparent means of getting to it.

 

“Ah so welcome back to ze land of ze living, Monsieur. You must be careful maintenant? One must not sleep too lightly as my babies are getting very ‘ungry. I have made a point of not feeding them ze last few days.” A dark-haired man in his mid-thirties wearing an eye patch peered over the edge of one of the surrounding brickwalls caressed with dangling Spanish moss and lichen.

“You need to let me go Mister Leonard Stillerman, that is your name is it not? It is in your best interest to do so.”

 

“Don’t call me that freakin’ name Godammit!” The man’s French accent momentarily disappeared as he lost his composure, instead he sounded as if he were straight from Brooklyn N.Y. After taking several deep breaths, his exaggerated foreign accent returned.

“I am Le Panthère and you are ‘ardly in a position to threaten moi. Now if you will just tell me your name, perhaps that will at least make a start of our dialogue. Why are you ‘ere? Who sent you?”

Illya laughed aloud. “It is for me to know and for you to find out...but I assure you; you will regret it either way.”

 

“Oh Je ne crois pas, monsieur. (I think not sir)”Le Panthère laughed."You're 'ardly in a position to make ze threats." He reached out to a panel at the top of the wall where he was standing, and pressing a red button; it activated the ledge where Illya was sitting. It lurched retracted several more inches.The Russian, startled at the movement, scrambled backwards against the wall.

At the rate it was disappearing, there would be standing room only by the end of the day, and Kuryakin wasn’t sure if he had the strength to remain on his feet.

Illya's thoughts went to his partner, hoping against hope that Napoleon, like the proverbial cavalry, was on the way.  
.

Rennie manned the air boat, while Solo used his binoculars, scanned ahead for any other watercraft and surreptitiously looking for his missing partner.

Their surroundings were eerie, filled with mist as long fronds of Spanish moss draped downwards from the many cypress and tupelo trees that survived in the murky waters filled with organic deposits from the trees and floating vegetation.

Solo raised his right hand, signalling Rennie to cut the engine. Ahead he’d spotted a dock, with several boats tied there. No visible guards though.

They used a pair of paddles to approach, and figured their own airboat would simply blend in with the others.

The floating dock creaked slightly as it swayed beneath the weight of the two men as they stepped onto it, weapons drawn.

Together, they carefully followed a well-trodden path leading to the fortress-like compound, and as they heard voices, Napoleon and Rennie quickly ducked into the thick undergrowth.

 

As the voices disappeared, heading towards the dock, the U.N.C.L.E. agents made their way forward, coming to the main gate, eyeing the large pather motif above it. There they hid behind a large cypress, watching the numerous guards patrolling the perimeter.

 

“This is going to have to be a nocturnal manuever,” Rennie whispered.” No way we’re getting inside during the daylight.”

Suddenly there was the recognizable click of several weapons being cocked from behind them.

“Ya'll drop your weapons and hands on your heads gentlemen," a THRUSH guard ordered in a slow drawl.

The agents complied, and were shoved forward, passing through the gate. Somewhere nearby, there was a snarling sound not unlike what one hears from a ‘big cat.’

 

“Well this solves the problem of getting inside...” Napoleon quipped and smiled as he watched Rennie roll his eyes.

 

to be continued…

.

* ref. “That Voodoo that you do so well” https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7510785/1/That-Voodoo-that-you-do-so-well

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was based on a photo prompt of two white coffins, and was originally posted on section7mfu, live journal for the Picfic Tuesday challenge.

 Illya was barely able to keep awake and was startled to full awareness when the largest of the three alligators, at least a twelve footer, heaved itself up on the the ledge where the Russian was perched.The agent backed up, slamming himself into small corner between the back and side walls. There was nowhere else to go. Holding his breath and closing his eyes, Illya waited for the inevitable.

It didn’t happen. He opened one eye,daing to peek.

The space had been too narrow for the beast to move forward and it slowly let itself slide back into the water...deprived of it’s meal for the moment. The ledge automatically retracted again, leaving Kuryakin no choice but now to remain standing, still with his back against the stone wall.

 He stared out at the door across from him...just for a second contemplating to make a swim for it; no, that would be certain death he told himself. The stones behind him were too slick and there were no visible grooves that he could grab onto to make the fifteen foot climb climb to the top of the wall.

He’d gone over his options again and again, almost obsessively running through different scenarios in his head. They all resulted in the same end, him being eaten alive.

The alligators had ceased their movement, remaining motionless floating side by side ...the exposed tops of their bodies looking almost like stepping stones.

Illya suddenly recalled seeing something in a film where a character crossed a moat filled with crocodiles by hop-scotching on their backs….no, that couldn’t be possible. It was just a cinema trick, or was it?

“There are only three,” Illya told himself,”and it is a short distance, if I just do it lightly like a dance step.”

At this point there was no time left to think, there was only time to just do it or surely die. What did it matter...dying in few minutes, or suffer waiting to die when the ledge was finally gone?

Illya took a deep breath and counting down through gritted teeth, he launched himself into the air.

“Tri-dva-odin…”

 He landed on the biggest one with his right foot, bounding off it instantly to the next one, touching down with his left, then taking off he hit the third one with his right.  Leaping again, his momentum carried him forward and landed him on his hands and knees atop the platform in front of the door.

It wasn’t a graceful, but he at least was alive to tell the tale and chuckled to himself that it had actually worked. Illya looked over his shoulder at the gators that were now quite agitated, as the creatures were snapping and going at each other.

 Turning his attention to the door knob, he reached for it but received a disappointment...it was locked.

“Chyort voz'mi! (dammit),”he cursed in Russian. One more thing to do to gain his freedom.

Illya dug into his mouth, feeling for the fine wire wrapped around his back molar and gingerly pulling it out, he knelt in front of the door and had the lock picked in no time.

 He slowly turned the knob and pulled on the door; it unexpectedly opened inwards with more force than he’d exerted, and a T.H.R.U.S.H. guard stumbled in.

 The ease at which the door gave way had caught the man unawares and he looked around, seeing Illya was no longer on opposite the ledge. Smiling; he assumed the prisoner finally fed the alligators.

That’s when Kuryakin struck, karate chopping the man in the neck and grabbed his rifle in one swift motion as he went down to his knees.

Though it was unintentional, the guards momentum brought his body forward and he fell into the water with a loud splash.

The scene became quite gruesome as he came to, just as the alligators attacked; the largest of the three pulling their helpless victim under the water with a single gurgling scream.

It was at that moment the Russian’s cold-heartedness showed.

“Bon appétit,” he whispered before exiting, jogging up the stairs to the next level. Once there he glanced down in the pit to see the ledge he’d been on disappear into the wall.

 His decision to make his move couldn’t have been timed any better, and he allowed himself a momentary pat on the back before taking off.

He needed to get to Le Panthère’s office and back into the safe. There he hoped the copies of the man’s depraved plan and the codes needed were still there.  Since sugarcane was the major product here... in proportion to its area, Assumption Parish produced the most sugar of any parish of Louisiana, T.H.R.U.S.H. had come up with plan to take advantage of that.

Their formula would taint the sugarcane, making anyone who ate sugar processed from it to become weak-minded. The codes were part of the planned hypnotic suggestions to be broadcast via television and radio.

It would result in a population akin to zombies…with no free will or able to think for themselves.

 

.

Once through the gate into fortress-like compound, Napoleon and Rennie were shoved to their knees, with their hands bound behind their backs.

There they waited in the courtyard for what seemed like an interminable length of time. Enough so that they both began to experience sharp pains in their knees. At one point Solo tried shifting his weight, sitting back on his heels, but that resulted in him being slammed in the stomach with a rifle butt.

“No moving!” The guard barked.

Resigned to their situation, albeit an uncomfortable one; it at least gave them the opportunity to get a good look at their surroundings and realize that every sort of weapon was trained exactly on the two of them.

T.H.R.U.S.H. rifles, Kalashnikovs, guns from World War II and perhaps even older. That told Napoleon The Panther’s little army was ill-equipped. It was obvious what monies the man had were sunk into the building of his estate, and mainly for his creature comforts.

Scanning the compound, Solo counted ten guards...not giving the agents the least hope of escaping at the moment.

A dark-haired man appeared on the upper balcony dressed in a white suit...wearing a black eye patch. It was Le Panthère in the flesh, though he looked less imposing in person.

He remained motionless, studying his prisoners perhaps.

His hand raised ever so slowly, and a man appeared beside him holding a crossbow. A weapon so simple in nature; it could kill its target in utter silence...not even the ‘pfffft’ of suppressed  gunfire compared to it.

Le Panthère’s hand lowered with a sharp gesture, and an arrow came flying straight towards Solo and Du Bois, landing in the ground between Napoleon’s legs.

The agent remained motionless, giving no reaction whatsoever.

A second arrow was released, this time Rennie wasn’t as fortunate and it skimmed thigh, leaving a bloody slice.

“Mon Dieu,” he hissed in pain, but remained in place... though he wanted to drop to the ground.  The guard behind him with a gun shoved against Rennie’s head saw to it he remained in place.

There was an echo of laughter from the balcony, and another gesture, this time for the two men to be brought inside.

Du Bois was yanked to his feet and again the two agents were forced to move onwards; Rennie hobbling to keep up the pace as best he could.

They were led up a staircase, and inside to an enormous drawing room, filled with statuary and potted palms. The floors were inlaid with intricate mosaics, and white plastered walls of intricate designs of grape leaves, fauns and satyrs surrounded them.

Sitting regally in an ornate red-velvet upholstered and gold gilt chair, Le Panthère was positioned there with his legs crossed, looking relaxed as he twirled his black walking stick in his hand. A sudden hiss came from behind the chair, and slowly walking around from the back, there appeared a large black panther wearing a collar and tethered to a chain.

“Oh no no ma cher, not just yet,” the Panther reached out with his hand, scratching the beast on it’s dark head.

The big black cat sat there with it’s mouth open, staring at Napoleon and Rennie with its large green eyes, not missing a thing.

Solo stared back defiantly, though he presumed at any second it would be released to tear them to shreds.

“So gentlemen,” Le Panthère spoke in an exaggerated French accent.

“I am afraid you are too late to rescue your blond _ami_...he ‘as, shall we say, made a fine meal for my pet alligators.”

A sign of overconfidence, Napoleon supposed since this place was so invisible to the outside world. Yet U.N.C.L.E. found it and UNCLE would destroy it and whatever twisted scheme the man was up to. They’d fulfill their assignment, of that, Napoleon Solo was sure...despite their current situation. He owed that to Illya...to complete the mission and live.

His survival would ensure the memory of Illya Kuryakin would live on as well. The Russian had no one, no family to mourn his passing, except Solo, though part of him refused to believe his partner was gone.

Now what to do with wiz you?” The Panther asked. “ Before I dispose of you, per’aps you can answer ze question for me that your friend refused to divulge? Who are you?”

Napoleon smiled, figuring his answer just might intimidate the man.

“We’re from U.N.C.L.E. and we know you’ve been a naughty boy, up to no good as T.H.R.U.S.H. usually is.  We’re here to stop you.”

“Hahahahahaaaaa! You stop moi? Preposterous!”  Hmmm, as I said, what to do wiz you. I think a different end than met by your blond compatriot...I assume ‘e was from U.N.C.L.E. as well. Tell me what was ‘is name so I may have it engraved on a small tombstone that I will place outside my gate….to warn others of your ilk away from me.”

Solo felt a pain in his gut. His partner was dead...he’s been late again, and this time it had an unforgivable consequence.

“His name,” Napoleon tried not to choke on it,” was Illya Kuryakin and he was my friend. You’ll pay for killing him.

“Kuryakin? Mon Dieu, then that means you must be the one and only Napoleon Solo. I am indeed honored that your organization ‘as sent ze best to stop me...but your best are not enough.  And you, who are you Monsieur?” He turned his attention to Rennie.

“Va te faire foutre, trouduc," (Fuck off asshole).” Rennie cursed at him in French.

“Now now, there’s no need for that sort of language Monsieur,” the Panther smiled. “You will upset my baybee ‘ere and she is growing quite ‘ungry.”

Rennie cast a glance to Solo, seeing a signal for him to take it easy.

“Fine, my name is Reneé Du Bois and as my partner here said, we are here to stop you.”

“I am growing tired of your belligerence,” the Panther casually waved his hand as if it were too much of an effort. “Take them below and lock them up while I ponder what to do with them. We must send U.N.C.L.E. a message I think. So the disposal of these men must be a bit more visible and creative.”

Napoleon and Rennie were led off to their cell, a quite damp and oozy sort of place within the bowels of the compound.  The hands were untied, the ropes discarded on the floor and they were shoved back against the slimy wall; their only source of light, a single incandescent bulb hanging from the high ceiling.

As soon as their guard left Rennie and Napoleon set about checking out their surroundings, tapping the floor and walls and listening for any hollow sounds, under the presumption they could remove the slate or stones and escape to another location.

Their search resulted in disappointment and together they sat on their rickety wooden bunks; the stained mattresses stuffed  with straw and no doubt filthy with fleas and who knew what else.

“Got any bright ideas Napoleon?”

“At the moment, no,” he shook his head.” How’s the leg?”

“Bleeding’s stopped.”

“I’d suggest to lay down and take it easy but…”

“Yes, the mattress does seem to be occupied already,” Rennie tried laughing. “Napoleon, I’m sorry about Illya.”

“Me too,” he hesitated,” but I’m not so sure he’s dead. My partner is like a cat with nine lives...though in Illya’s case it’s more like nine-hundred lives. He has a way of surviving…”

“Let’s hope you’re right mah friend.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Illya was surprised to not encounter any guards as he moved quietly along the hallways of Le Panthère’s posh estate. There were works of art everywhere, and he was pretty sure they were Persian silk carpets he was now treading upon.

He peeked out a window, looking down upon the main courtyard, spying what looked like all of the guards and Le Panthère himself standing on a lower balcony. Beside the T.H.R.U.S.H. leader was a man with a crossbow but, who he was aiming the weapon at, Illya couldn’t see.

It was fortuitous, as whatever was going on out there was giving the Russian the time he needed to complete his mission, then getting out of this place was the next priority.

He arrived at the door he knew to be the Panther’s office and listened with his ear against the door for any signs of occupancy, but all was silent.

Illya turned the door knob, quickly slipping inside and headed directly to the small floor safe sitting right there in the open next to an ornately carved oak desk.

He shivered for a second as he knelt down beside, remembering the combination from when he’d cracked it previously...but that was when he’d gotten caught. Le Panthère and two guards walked right in on him…

The safe open; Illya grabbed the documents needed as well as a vial containing the sample of the contaminant to be used on the sugar cane.

He stuffed them inside his soiled white shirt, tucking the tails into his pants to ensure nothing would slip out as he made his getaway.

That was when he heard it, muffled voices coming down the hall. Illya shut the safe door, spun the tumbler and dashed to the French doors leading out to another small balcony. He hid to the side out of view, as two men entered the office.

They headed toward a liquor cabinet against the wall.

“The boss wants his cognac, tout de suite.”

“Do you believe him with that accent of his. He ain’t no Frenchie is he.”

“No but he pays good and you better not let him hear you say that, otherwise you’re going find yourself locked up with those two U.N.C.L.E. agents.”

The guard shuddered. “No problem there, I’m not that stupid. Those two were pretty bold especially that fellow Solo. Imagine that being tied up, on your knees with all those guns trained on you and still threatening to stop the boss. Wow, that’s balls….or real stupidity. Hey you want to go down to the cells later and torment them for a bit...I’m sure Monsieur Le Panthère wouldn’t mind us having a bit of fun, no damage mind you.”

They both laughed, but decided to stay away from the prisoners.

As soon as Illya heard them leave, he knew what he now had to do, and he had to do it quickly.

.

Napoleon sat on the edge of his bunk, leaning on his his fist, lost in thought as he stared at the cell door.

It was old, iron from the looks of it and not made in this century. His eyes went wide as he suddenly realized something.

“Rennie, pull two of the legs from your bunk.” He stood up, grabbing the discarded roped on the floor.

Du Bois, misunderstanding Solo’s actions, protested. 

“No I will not help you commit suicide.”

Napoleon looked at him in dismay. “Did I say anything about that? I want you to wedge the wood under the bottom of the bars, and use the other piece to act as a fulcrum. If my guess it right you should be able to lift it enough. These are single pin hinges and should come right out. Push down when I say so.” He tied the ropes near the top of the cell door.

“Now!”

Rennie pushed down on the wood, and the bars lifted just a little with ease, while Solo pulled with the rope.

It was just enough to raise the bars, leaving it hanging on one hinge, while the door lock remained intact.

They crawled out the opening at the bottom and out into the darkened corridor.

“Now what?” Rennie whispered.

“We try to find Le Panthère’s office to get the answers we need.”

“That will not be necessary gentlemen,” a voice whispered. Like a wraith, a pale figure emerged from the shadows

“Tovarish?” Napoleon smiled, offering his hand to his partner.

“We thought you were dead,” Rennie did the same.

“Speak for yourself Du Bois,” Napoleon said.” So why don’t we need to go to Le Panthère’s office?”

“Because I have everything we need to know about his plans. formulas, codes and a sample. And by the way his name is actually Leonard Stillerman from Brooklyn… his demeanor is all a sham.”  
Napoleon chuckled at the name. “So what is Mr. Stillerman up to chum?”

“His plans are to contaminate sugarcane produced here in Assumption Parish, and the sugar product derived from it will be tainted, making anyone who ingests it open to hypnotic suggestions, which T.H.R.U.S.H. plans to broadcast via mass media. It would create a population of zombies, obedient only to them.”

“Assumption Parish sugarcane is only the beginning, other supplies will eventually be contaminated as well, creating a domino effect around the world. T.H.R.U.S.H. will succeed at world domination with not ever having to fire a shot.”

“Not if we can help it chum. How about doing some damage before we blow this place.”

“My thoughts exactly my friend,” Illya smiled. He opened one of the heels of his shoe, pulling out grey explosive compound and wires, Solo did the same as did Du Bois.

“We have enough to blow this place to kingdom come,”Rennie said.

“And that is exactly what we will do,”Illya smiled. When he first arrived he was able to explore the compound looking for Le Panthère’s office, and that information he imparted to Solo and Du Bois.

“There is a tunnel beneath the compound, and can be reached through the corridor in which we are standing now. There they have dozens of coffins in which they plan to ship the compound once it’s manufacture has been completed, and from what I gather, that will be in only another day.

“I will take care of the lab, and the rest I leave to you two,” Illya smiled, disappearing again into the darkness.

“If I didn’t know better Napoleon, I’d swear your partner is going to take great joy in this plan.’’

Solo grinned. “Yeah he does have a thing for explosions, but hey what can I say...everyone needs a hobby.”

Napoleon and Rennie headed off the way Illya had indicated, while the Russian took off in the opposite direction.

They managed to set the explosives and make it to the tunnel beneath the complex, but there they encountered a big problem….there were no boats anchored there. Only a collection of white coffins being readied to ship with supplies of the T.H.R.U.S.H. formula.

“Chyort,” Illya cursed in frustration.” We are about to feel experience some very loud explosions.”

No sooner had he said that; they flet a loud rumbling above them… bits dirt and rock started to come down on them, followed by larger and larger chunks of debris. The roof of the tunnel was about to collapse around them as all hell broke loose.

“Quick, in the coffins,” Solo called out. “Let’s hope they’re waterproof. They pushed the caskets into the water, pushing them off with a mighty shove.

 

  
.

 

 

See you on the other side,”Rennie saluted before closing the lid, praying to himself they’d survive and not end up in the belly of an alligator.

The current took them out into the swamp and after hearing all become quiet, the three men opened the coffin lids to view the destruction.

The compound had gone up in flames and with the surrounding area beginning to burn as well. The air boats were gone from the dock, but a lone figure dressed in white appeared.

“I’ll kill you you freakin’ U.N.C.L.E. agents.” Leonard Stillerman screamed, his voice cracking. He raised a crossbow in his hands and let loose an arrow at the men who were literally sitting ducks.  
Dropping down into their coffins, as that was all the cover they had, though it didn’t help. The arrow found its mark, driving through the wood and piercing the side of Rennie Du Bois. He was killed instantly.

The current took the other coffins out of range. There was nothing Napoleon and Illya could do to exact their revenge for the killing of their friend. As they watched Le Panthère stomped on the dock like a spoiled child, his black panther crept up behind him. 

Stillerman turned, just in time to see his snarling pet leap at him, taking him down and and gravely wounding him with a garbled scream. The panther rose, licking it’s chops and disappeared into the brush, seconds before the dock collapsed. Le Panthère was thrown into the water, to the waiting jaws a very large alligator.

“Poetic justice,” Napoleon said, and they began to carefully paddle themselves along the river. 

A mist was beginning to form and after a long time had passed, they stopped, listening to something in the distance.

It was singing, yet it echoed, strangely hidden in the vaporus haze.

“J´avais promis dans ma jeunesse, Que j´m´aurais jamais marié  
J´avais promis dans ma jeunesse, Que j´m´aurais jamais marié

Adieu la fleur de la jeunesse La noble qualité de vie  
La noble qualité de vie,C´est aujourd´hui que je veux la quitter

C´est aujourd´hui que je porte le nom de dame,C´est par l´anneau que je porte au doigt, C´est aujourd´hui que je porte le nom de dame  
C´est par l´anneau que je porte au doigt...”

(I promised in my youth, What I would never married   
I promised in my youth, What I would never married   
Adieu the flower of youth, The noble quality of life   
The noble quality of life, It is now that I want to leave 

It is today that I called the lady, This is the ring that I wear finger   
It is today that I called the lady ,This is the ring that I wear finger...)

As the image belonging to the crusty old voice came into view, an old man looked up, seeing the strange sight of two men sitting in floating coffins.

“Well beck moi tchew, ( bite my ass).” the man cussed in Cajun dialect. “What you fellows be doing der in dem boxes?”

“Long story Napoleon called, but could you help us get to dry land? 

“Oui, Illya called in French, “Nous semblons être dans une sorte de dilemme.” (We seem to be in something of a dilemma.)

“Merde (shit) there be nuttin’ dry here son. Tell you what, I toss you dis he-ah rope and you ‘ang on. I tow you to mah place. You jus’ wait while I pull in my nets. He gathered his tar-dipped nets used for catching catfish to his small flat-bottomed boat, called a pirogue. Running catfish nets was hard back-breaking work and it took him a few minutes to bring it all in. 

After tossing them a line, he slowly towed them to a rather unexpected place, a house on stilts in the middle of the water.

 

 

 

 

It reminded the Russian of a childhood myth, that used to frighten the hell out of him; the legend of the Baba Yaga whose house was mounted similarly but would turn into chicken legs and walk after her as she would come to steal children in the night.

As they approached the rickety house, fireflies began to light up the darkness adding a serenity to their surroundings, along with the sound of frogs singing their mating songs. The pirogue was tied off and their rescuer pulled in the coffins one by one, helping the two agents onto his ramshackle dock.

“My came is Cecil Cocteau, and welcome to mah home.”

“Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin,” the American made the introductions. They withheld offering their hands, and simply nodded to the older man..

Following him up the steps, they entered that cabin, being surprised at the interior. It was clean, organized, the walls were sheetrocked and painted a pale green. The furnishings were fairly new but more homey, nothing modern. 

On a desk in the far corner of the living space sat a ham radio.

Illya nodded to his partner, making a beeline for it. “Cecil does that radio work?”

“That chouchoot? (thingamajig) Sho’ does, help yo’self son. Can I enerest you boys in some libation? I think your story maght need one, when you git to de tellin’...”

Cecil reached out, grabbing a ceramic jug from behind the desk.”

“I think that would do nicely sir, merci,” Napoleon smiled. A good stiff drink would hit the spot right now.

He and Illya were handed two glass mason jars and each poured a generous portion of a clear liquid.

“Is this what I think it is?”Solo asked.

“That dependon what you be thinkin’.”

“Moonshine?”

“Mais oui,” Cecil smiled.

The glasses were chinked together. 

“Here’s to interesting stories and the telling of tales,” Napoleon said, and after taking a sip of the hooch, he coughed...noting that Kuryakin with his cast iron stomach had drained his glass without batting an eye.

“Whoo-eee, Cho! Co! (wow!) Das goo’ stuff,” Cecil swallowed his as well.

 

Illya radioed for help and within the hour an airboat arrived to rescue them, returning them to the field office in New Orleans.

Once an initial report was made to Waverly, they were able to obtain some clean clothing before they boarded the U.N.C.L.E. jet for their return flight to New York.

Beverly McMaster welcomed them aboard, though she seemed a little miffed.

“So what happened to our night out in the French Quarter Napoleon Solo?” she tapped her foot impatiently.

“Bev honey...we lost Rennie.”

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” Her face reddened with embarrassment.

“When we get back to New York and everything is settled, I’ll take you out for a night on the town...Scouts honor.”

“Thank you Napoleon, I’d like that. Now if you and Mr. Kuryakin would buckle up, I believe we’re ready for take off.

Once she disappeared back to her own seat, readying herself...Illya leaned over to his partner.

“Are you really going to take her out?”

“What makes you think that I wouldn’t?”

“Oh something Lisa Rogers once said...seems that every time you swear Scouts honor, you are lying through your teeth,” the Russian grinned, “and I concur.”

“You know we have to have a talk about these things you and me...who are you going to believe, me or someone else?”

Illya didn’t answer, and closed his weary eyes, leaning back on the head rest. He was asleep within minutes.

Napoleon simply smiled, and closed his eyes as well, following his partners lead.


End file.
